The Love We Let Lead Us
by sunsolace
Summary: With the Commonwealth recovering at last, Nora and Nate welcome the newest additions to their family. Their companions help, of course. Originally a kmeme prompt fill. F!Sole/M!Sole.
1. Chapter 1

Nora never experiences a moment of more profound relief than when Dr Forsythe declares her babies radiation free. "Congratulations. They're in perfect health."

She flops back onto the pillows, light-headed, weak, and it's all she can do to keep breathing. Nate and Curie flank her on each side, holding her hands, keeping her grounded. With the exultant release from pain and fear, she wants nothing more than to force her leadened limbs to climb off the bed and reclaim her babies.

Nate leans into her and buries his head in her neck. She can feel his smile against her flushed skin. He gives a wet, giddy laugh and says, "You did it, hon. Look what you did."

Nora feels so very _empty_ with her deflated belly and aching arms. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes back, careful of the IV line; their palms are equally calloused but equally warm. "I need them back."

At the desperation edging her tone, Nate kisses her cheek in quiet reassurance and stands, coaxing Number One from Rachel. He lowers his daughter with the utmost care into her waiting arms, and turns to grab Number Two. Number One squirms against Nora's breast, blinking up at her with half-lidded, muddy eyes. Her wrinkled face is half-scrunched, teetering on the verge of crying.

"Hush, little one. It's alright. Mommy's here." Nora unwraps her baby so they can rest skin to skin. She can't keep her hands off Number One, caressing her silky hair, stroking the slope of her shoulder, brushing over her belly.

"Oh," Curie breathes, her fingers smoothing back Nora's frazzled hair, "look at her. What a delight."

Anyone can argue the importance of pure human DNA, but Nora only cares that both her babies can smile and cry and be well. Number One is plump and wrinkled and warm, and her two small hands have ten fingers, each one tipped with a blunt nail. Her tiny rosebud mouth works as if testing the air she now breathes. Nora shifts so her baby is settled more firmly on her chest, and Number One is lulled into sleep with one small ear pressed to her mother's heart.

A second cry echoes around the softly-lit room: Number Two. Nate holds her aloft underneath one of the dim lights, his hands wrapped around her torso in a firm, if gentle, grip. "Look at her," he breathes, with all the reverence of a man in prayer. His eyes dart over her wrinkled little body and her slightly flattened head. "She's perfect."

And then Nora's voice, low and gravelly but steel-edged, rings out: "Don't you _dare_ drop my baby."

* * *

It only hits Nora that they have not one, but _two_ newborns when she's trying to feed them both the next morning without anyone falling onto the floor. It takes some careful positioning and added support from Nate to keep their daughters steady. He sits beside her, taking her weight, with his arms wrapped around her—ready to catch any slipping babies. It isn't exactly a doctor-approved position, but neither of them mind.

Delilah—formerly Number One—is the larger of the two, and is an eager feeder. Her sister Maeve, however, has more trouble, but with some repositioning her sucking turns to proper feeding. Watching her new daughters, Nora wonders who these little people are—and how much harder it's going to be this time.

Nora knows what pregnancy is like, thanks to—well. She knows. When she'd grown too big too quickly, when she'd been more tired than she had been during her last pregnancy, she'd worried. Plagued by images of swollen mutations, of tumors and three hands and misshapen bodies—of too many sick, spindly children that sit on the stairs of their parents' homesteads—they'd spent months searching for answers. Vault 81 is the only place in the Commonwealth equipped with the facilities to help, and Nora remembers sitting in this very clinic a few bare months ago, her hand swallowed by both of Nate's in a white-knuckled grip. At the time the walls seemed cold and sterile, pressing in too close. Then they warped to gray with a high-pitched whine when Dr Forsythe delivered the results.

But now the faded yellow paint glows with a fresh vitality under the bright, cheery lights. Too bright even, as Maeve blinks and squirms under the blanket that cocoons her. Nora's euphoria is dimmed by the gray shroud of grief that will never leave her.

"Good thing we had a few backup names handy," Nate murmurs, his thumb stroking over Delilah's shoulder. She finishes and the suction breaks with a tiny pop, and Nate eases her out of the crook of Nora's elbow. His hands are certain, supporting her tiny head, patting her back with the lightest of motions until she gurgles a tiny burp. Afterward, Nate holds her close to his chest so she can hear his heartbeat, crooning nonsense in a low, rough voice. His eyes are slightly widened, belying his disarmed surprise and love as he watches his daughter. "I almost can't believe it, you know. With everything that's happened... I never thought we'd have this again."

Nora leans over to grab his shoulder and pull him close to kiss. It is brief and tender, then she rests her forehead against his. Delilah squirms, freeing a hand to wave through the air, and Nate leans back into his seat.

Nora runs a knuckle over the downy cap of hair crowning Maeve's head, and her baby's big, dark eyes watch her back, silent and intent. For all the exhilarating joy that rushes her, a quiet place in Nora's heart remembers another hospital and another baby. Too long ago, yet not long enough. And oh, the sudden ache tightens her throat with hot, skeletal fingers until she can hardly breathe. Has to press two fingers to the bridge of her nose and close her eyes a moment.

She draws in a long, unsteady breath and leans into Nate's hand when he grips her shoulder.

When Nora opens her eyes, she can't stop staring at her youngest child. Maeve's tiny hands explore her surrounds, curling and uncurling, skimming over Nora's skin.

The clinic door hisses open and Shaun almost careens into Nate's side. "Mom! Dad!"

"Morning, kiddo." Nate wrangles him into a one-armed and kisses the top of his head. "We've got some important introductions to make."

Nora also claims a hug and a kiss from Shaun. _My son,_ she affirms with a sudden fierceness. _Not the same son. But mine_.

"Ah! Good morning, mum, sir, and congratulations!" Codsworth breezes to the bed, Dogmeat by his side, and two of his eye stalks swivel out of sync to take in both of the babies. "And these are our newest family members, I presume? Miss Nora, I am relieved you and the little ones are safe and sound. Your better half must be beyond pleased."

"You have no idea, Codsworth," Nate affirms with a sudden, giddy grin.

Dogmeat lifts his paws onto the mattress, his head darting between Delilah in Nate's arms and Maeve in Nora's, ears cocked forward and tail wagging with enough force that his entire flank shakes. He sticks his muzzle into Nora's lap, snuffling at the wrapped bundle of baby, nosing one tiny hand. Maeve gasps and her face scrunches, her wrinkled little fingers curling. Nora strokes her daughter's fist and Maeve latches on, wrapping her hand around her mother's finger with the peculiar strength newborns possess.

"Easy, buddy." Nate drops a hand onto Dogmeat's shoulders to curb his excitement, then sweeps his gaze over his immediate family, gathered and complete at last. Absently shifting Delilah in the cook of his arm so she can better see the rest of her family, he makes the introductions: "Shaun, Codsworth, Dogmeat, this is Delilah and Maeve."

"Welcome, welcome," Codsworth says, waving one appendage, and for all his enthusiasm his voice is quiet. "It is wonderful to meet you both at last."

Shaun sits heavily on the end of Nora's bed and stares with wide-eyed fascination at Delilah, who stares back with an unblinking intensity. He fidgets with a bent spring he scavenged from the depths of his pockets. Meanwhile, Dogmeat drops back to all fours on the floor and scampers away, through the door that hisses open at his approach.

"My, whatever has gotten into him?" Codsworth wonders.

Dogmeat doesn't keep them in suspense; he returns a minute later at a run, carrying something in his mouth. Sides heaving from the fleeting breaths he draws through his nose, Dogmeat jumps up again to deposit his gift beside Nora's blanketed thigh. It's none other than Cyclops the alien, his favorite toy. Damp with saliva and sprinkled with dog hair, the square blob of alien has only three handless appendages—the last has already been gnawed away by persistent teeth. Its purple hide has since faded to a stormy gray, while the monocular goggle secured around its body retained its aqua hue. No matter the numerous tooth gouges in its rubber shell, Cyclops sports an ever-friendly smile.

Dogmeat pushes his toy towards Maeve with his muzzle, whistling through his nose. Nora moves the toy to her lap, then lavishes Dogmeat with head scratches. "Thanks, boy. We really appreciate it."

Dogmeat wags his tail and noses Maeve's foot, then puts his paws in Nate's lap to inspect Delilah, who stares at him with eyes that haven't quite learned how to focus. When he's satisfied, he curls up on the floor between Nate's feet and the edge of the bed Nora lies in.

When the twins fall asleep, the family sits quietly, basking in the contented glow of triumph.

* * *

A few days later Nora is transferred from the clinic to their quarters in Vault 81. Given space is the finest luxury in a vault, their apartment isn't much—enough room to fit basic furniture, as well as the crib Alexis arranged for them to borrow and a mattress for Shaun. Codsworth fusses over the twins as much as their parents do, and the robot's gentleness eases them into tolerating him. If anything, Codsworth's motions are as edged with desperate relief as Nora's and Nate's, and as laden with memories of the last time they arranged a schedule for changing diapers. No matter their prior experience on the matter of babies, it's tiring and exhilarating and nerve wracking. Delilah and Maeve are two tiny individuals, and it's impossible to judge how much crying is normal.

Shaun plops down on the bed beside Nora and she snaps out of her doze, blinking away the bleary haze blurring her vision. With Vault 81's stable lighting, she has no means to gauge the time, but Nate sits at the desk reading his beloved _Grognak the Barbarian_ for the hundredth time. In Nora's arms, Maeve is dead to the world, her round face slack with peaceful dreams, while Delilah is wide-eyed and alert. Shaun peers down at his little sisters. He runs a curious hand, lightly at Nora's urging, over Delilah's hair, and she reaches out to touch his arm. Brother and sister peer at each other with matching eyes.

A frown creases his brow, and he doesn't look away from Delilah when he asks, "Can you guys show me how to be big and strong like you? So I can protect my little sisters?"

 _Oh._ Over Shaun's head, Nate catches Nora's eye. His expression is almost unbearably tender, but his eyes are dark and unhappy. He shakes his head, just slightly.

Nora shuffles into the middle of the bed, sitting up and crossing her legs, then pats the space beside her. "Come here, kiddo." When Shaun does, she wraps a free arm around his shoulders. "Anything you can do to look after your sisters, like taking on more chores around the house, checking in on the twins—these will be a big help. But it isn't your job to protect this family. Leave that to your dad and me." She kisses his temple.

Delilah lets out a cry, then, and Nora soothes her with gentle words and soft touches. Shaun tries to mimic his mother, letting Delilah latch onto his hand and patting what part of her he can reach—the back of her head, in his case. "It's okay. Don't cry."

Nora offers a breast to Delilah and—yes, she's hungry again. Maeve still hasn't woken up, so Nora lets her be after wiping a saliva trail from the corner of her mouth.

"Miss Katy says there's two kinds of twins," Shaun pronounces. "Twins who are two separate people, and twins who are one person split in half."

"That's the gist of it," Nate affirms. "Doc says our girls are the first kind."

"Well that's boring," Shaun blurts, with the innocent thoughtlessness only a ten-year-old could get away with.

"I could do with a little boring," Nora groans, settling back into the nest of pillows. "Maybe a lot of boring."

Shaun sighs. "Come _on_ , Mom."

* * *

"Knock, knock."

Nora blinks awake, groggy and slow, her hands twitching around the bundle curled against her chest. While Delilah sleeps in the crib, Nora has kept Maeve at the breast longer, given she still isn't feeding as often as her sister. Nate and Shaun are lying on the floor, a mosaic of bright-colored comics spread around them like a sunburst. Looking to the open doorway, Nora's mouth curls into a delighted smile. The open doorway is filled by one Nick Valentine.

"Mornin', folks."

Nate and Shaun stand to make room for Valentine; the former earns a handshake and a friendly clap on the shoulder, while the latter gets a hair ruffling. Dropping one hand to Shaun's shoulder, Nate piles their comics on the corner of the desk and checks on Delilah.

Nora sits up a bit more on the pillows supporting her and grabs the brim of Valentine's fedora between her thumb and forefinger in her usual greeting. "Hey, Nick."

Perching on the edge of the bed, Valentine wraps one arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple. "Congratulations, partner. I came as quick as I could."

Ducking her head to hide a smile, Nora runs a finger over Maeve's dark, downy hair. She is filled with overwhelming tenderness as she looks down at the little body molding to the curves of her chest. The baby blinks, shifting from drowsy to alert as she finds a new face to gape at. She studies Valentine, her gaze drifting downward from his worn fedora to his weathered chin, but one eyes wanders out of focus.

"Maeve, sweetie, this is Uncle Nick. He's very happy to meet you."

Removing his fedora, Valentine peers down at the baby without crowding her. "Real marvelous to finally meet you at last, doll. 'S been a long time coming. And you, too," he adds to Delilah, who Nate has drawn out of the crib into his arms. She is first taken by Nate's face, but her gaze shifts to Valentine when Nate sits on the edge of the bed. "I bet you're all set to give your parents a hard time. And there'll be double the trouble, with you and Miss Delilah over there." He runs a finger over the back of Delilah's tiny fist. Looking between both parents, he says, "Bet you're both as proud as can be."

"Just look at them," Nate says, and that reverent note creeps back into his tone. "They're our daughters. Aren't they beautiful?"

With a low chuckle, Valentine hooks a foot around the strap of his satchel on the floor and starts digging through its contents. "Here now, Uncle Nicky's got a present for you both. These might be a bit big for ya, but you can grow into 'em."

"Do you here that, kiddo? Presents! You'll love presents." Nate shuffles inward to the center of the mattress as best he can with his arms occupied, and angles Delilah so she can see the two wrapped packages Nick withdraws. Shaun scrambles around to the far side of the bed and hops on to see what's happening.

With some finagling, Nora frees her hands to do the honors. Maeve scrunches inward against her belly while she unties the strings, and newspaper falls away to reveal two toy robots. One has a pocket watch head with limbs made from copper fuses, and its chest piece looks suspiciously close to a reworked shell of a machine gun turret. The second one has been built around a vacuum tube torso, with limbs of clockwork cogs and loops of copper wire, and tiny black circuit chips for eyes. Both bear the intricate detail of loving craftsmanship, their scavenged materials transcending their original purposes to become something beautiful.

"Look at those," Nora marvels, standing the copper robot in her lap beside Maeve, and touches Valentine's shoulder. "Thank you, Nick. These are lovely."

Nate holds up the silver toy robot to Delilah, hoping to catch her attention with it. "You see this? This is all yours. Can you say 'thank you'?"

The twins, however, are more taken with the people surrounding them than with the toys. Valentine doesn't seem to mind.

* * *

With a heavy thump that might be a knock, the door slides open to reveal Curie, who cuddles a massive tome in her arms with all the care Nora might use to hold one of her daughters.

"What, is someone burning down a library?" Valentine asks.

"I understand that it is traditional to give new families a present, as a way of welcoming new babies, yes? After some consideration, I determined that good education is vital to children's healthy development."

The pre-War book sports the mottled yellow markings of age and its binding is loose. Armored somewhat by its hard cover, which hangs limp over its pages, this book survived a nuclear fallout by virtue of being sealed deep in a sepulchral research lab—judging by the stale, cold-earth smell. And yet, Nora has her doubts whether a lab researching pathogens required a collection of Shakespeare's plays, with an embossed midnight blue cover and faded gold lettering.

It hits her, then, just how much this tome is worth, and just how much effort it must have taken to find.

"That's very forward-thinking of you, Curie," Nate says, eyeballing the hefty book. No doubt it could knock a man out cold. "Thanks."

"It is my pleasure, my friend." Taking the spot on the edge of the bed previously occupied by Valentine, she looks between the twins and holds up the book so they can both see it. "This is my gift to you, little ones, with my best wishes."

Maeve watches the book with enormous, dark-lashed eyes, before they're captured by Curie's smile. Delilah kicks her legs in her wrapping, weaseling one arm free to wave it through the air.

Curie stretches out a hand to stroke Delilah's forehead, and the baby grabs her finger before she can pull away. "Oh! She has a strong grip!" Her free hand flutters in mid-air, like a scattered flock of birds, then smooths over wrinkles in her trousers. "I wish to thank you for allowing me to be present at their birth. It was—oh, I do not have words to describe it."

Nora takes Curie's elegant, long-fingered hand in her own. Her callouses are less pronounced, from operating lab equipment rather than gripping weapons, and there are deep red gouge marks in her palms from where the edge of the book bit into her hands. "Thank you for being there. You were wonderful help."

Curie smiles and squeezes back. "Any time, my friend."

Not five minutes later, the Maeve is curled up in Valentine's fedora, which he holds with the utmost care, while Delilah rests in the crib next to him. Dogmeat settles on Nate's pillow, ears pricked and eyes alert. Shaun sits cross-legged on the floor, tugging on Valentine's coat and wheedling for a story. Curie has dragged the desk chair beside him, and now reads in her light, lyrical voice from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

Nate watches his children with an indulgent smile. Weary lines frame his eyes, half-lidded from exhaustion, but he looks beyond proud. One of his hands rests idly on Nora's shin, his warmth seeping through the sheets. She runs her foot over his hip, scrunching her toes into the blanket that separates his body from hers. It isn't a private moment for them by any stretch of the imagination, but they've had almost no time just for the two of them since the birth. And Curie's melodic voice _is_ rather soothing.

Valentine's golden gaze sweeps across Nate and Nora. "We could take 'em off your hands for a spell, if you two want to catch some shut-eye. Come on, kid, how would you like to hear about the latest case at the agency?"

The prospect of receiving his asked-for story is enough to move Shaun. He carries Delilah the way Nate showed him, keeping her head and body pressed close to his chest, while Valentine still has Maeve in his fedora. Dogmeat hops off the bed to follow on his heels. Curie marks her place in the book with one finger while they all trundle outside.

The moment the door slides shut, Nate lies down beside Nora, the dark circles under his eyes deepening as shadows overwhelm the angles of his face. But there's a glow, too: that heady thrill deepening the laugh lines around his mouth, crinkling the corners of his eyes with such ardent joy. Nora kisses the tip of his nose and his mouth kicks up in that familiar crooked smile. Running a finger along her jaw, Nate catches her mouth with his own for a proper kiss. It is a soft and unhurried thing between them, trailing away into a series of smaller pecks. Nate pulls her against him, nuzzling the side of her neck, and they settle in a tangle of limbs and blankets. He wraps an arm around her soft, fleshy belly, and she runs her fingertips along the slope of his shoulder.

Exhaustion settles in the curve of every muscle, in the marrow of Nora's bones. As her eyes drag closed, her thoughts circle to her children outside—and Curie's hefty gift. "They're either going to be geniuses... or very sound sleepers."

"Is it too much to hope for both?" Nate's voice is nearly a groan as he flops onto his stomach, burying his face in a pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

From the moment MacCready walks through the door, Maeve is taken by his green hat. Nate and MacCready share a one-armed hug, careful not to smother the baby, and a chubby little arm reaches up with grasping, half-curled fingers. MacCready lowers Maeve's hand with the utmost care.

Nate grins. "Hey, buddy. Glad you could make it."

"Wasn't going to miss this." A smirk works itself along the well-worn creases around his mouth, but his expression lacks his typical cynical edge. "Congratulations, it's going to be months before you ever sleep a night through again."

Nora is leaning over the crib, cooing at Delilah. Her baby stares up with interest, playing with her own hands seemingly without realizing they are her own fingers. Nora glances over her shoulder, and is struck as always by incongruousness of a scrawny young mercenary beside her broad-shouldered soldier. MacCready even gives her a rare genuine smile.

The baby makes a noise of complaint and squirms when Nora lifts her out of the crib, sucking in her breath for a wail. Nora holds Delilah steady, no matter how hard she wriggles, and rocks the baby in her arms in an attempt to head off her crying before she can begin.

Shifting Maeve in the crook of his arms, Nate steps forward to catch Delilah's attention. "Hey, hey. It's okay. We know you aren't much of a cuddler, so we're just going to show you MacCready nice and quick."

Between Nate's crooning and Nora's rocking, Delilah subsides with an unhappy noise, swiping a tiny fist over her rounded cheeks.

MacCready watches the whole thing with a sniper's keen sight, cocking his head to one side. "Fatherhood suits you."

Nora only has eyes for Nate, whose gaze wavers between his new daughters with a tremulous joy that makes her heart stutter. He's quiet for a few moments, then his chin bobs in the tiniest nod. "It's a huge responsibility."

MacCready blows out a short, noisy breath. "You can say that again. But I guess that just means it's all the more important to get it right."

"Even better, you have two nieces now."

MacCready's features slacken into open-mouthed surprise. Something crosses his face, too fast to catch, and then he snaps to, looking between the twins. He takes a step closer and lightly bops the tip of Maeve's nose with one finger. "Almost as cute as Duncan was when he was your age." But his eyes are soft, and the angles of his narrow face seem less harsh in Vault 81's even lighting. He reaches out to smooth Delilah's tuft of hair. She stops kicking when he looks at her, thrilled with eye contact and a new face. "And you too. You're the independent one, aren't you?"

MacCready then hefts a rolled bundle between his hands, taking a moment to memorize the feel of it one last time. "I used to carry Duncan in this, before he grew out of it. I want you to have it. Here, I'll trade you."

They swap baby for gift, and MacCready's hands are confident and steady when he scoops Maeve out of Nate's arms. "Look at you, already moving your head around. We'll make a sniper out of you."

Maeve gurgles and reaches for the lapel of his duster.

Nate turns the fabric over in his hands until he can make sense of it: a padded travel sling made from soft, dark fabric. Made to be worn over one shoulder, the pouch would sit comfortably over someone's stomach, molding to the contours of their body. Along the wide, reinforced strap is an embroidered scene, starting with a red-trimmed farm house. A field of green crops gives way to a forest where a raddoe and her radfawn graze with their heads lowered.

Running a thumb along the strap, Nate sucks in a breath. "We'll take good care of it, I promise."

"You two get to travel in style, yes you do." MacCready murmurs to the twins in a crooning lilt. When he glances up and sees Nate and Nora watching him, he clears his throat. "I mean: appreciate it. I'm just glad I can start returning favors instead of taking them."

Nate cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glimmering with amusement. "Did you just volunteer for diaper duty? I'm touched, buddy. That's true friendship."

"Nice try, assh— jerk." With a snort, MacCready gives Nate a shove around an armful of baby. He shifts Maeve so she's better-supported against his shoulder.

With one chubby fist, Maeve yanks the brim of his cap down.

* * *

When the twins are fifteen days old, Nora and Nate are ready for the journey home to Sanctuary Hills. Delilah and Maeve are wrapped warm and secure in their new travel sling, small enough to both fit in a carrier designed for a larger baby. Shaun darts ahead as soon as the vault lights have stopped flashing and the catwalk is fully extended, calling some impatient response over his shoulder when Nate warns him to be careful.

Nora and Nate share a look.

"Not to worry, sir! I can watch over young Master Shaun," Codsworth says. "One strapping young lad is hardly beyond my babysitting capabilities." With an added gout of jet flame, Codsworth propels himself after Shaun.

Milling in the fenced lot of Vault 81's construction zone is a good dozen Minutemen of all sorts, from broad-shouldered farmer kids to rangy settlers in plaid shirts. All that marks them as comrades are the laser muskets slung over their shoulders or held loose by their sides.

In the center of it all, leaning against a rusted hulk of a Corvega, is one Preston Garvey. He gives them a wry smile from under the brim of his hat. When his eyes alight on the twins, his smile widens to a full grin. "General! I heard of a family that needs our help: we need to get them home safely."

Nate and Preston share an amicable handshake. "Sign me up."

Preston rests a hand on her shoulder, and she reaches up to cover his hand with her own. "Hey there, Nora. Glad you made it through in one piece. These two are your new kids" He motions to the twins in MacCready's travel sling. Preston takes off his hat and he tickles the little hands that reach out with the brim. "Hope you don't mind, but I got something for them."

Inside the package he hands over: two pairs of baby shoes made from the softest brahmin leather. One pair is dyed blue with brown leather strips for laces, while the other pair are brown with blue laces. On a newborn, they would be too loose—but the twins will grow into them.

"Everyone needs a good pair of boots," Preston says with a smile. "I figured if you two wander half as much as your parents do, you're going to wear through a lot of shoe leather."

Nate sticks his fingers into the blue pair and gently walk them along Delilah's belly, and then Maeve's. "You see these? These are for you. One day you're going to learn how to toddle around and my hair is going to turn gray."

Delilah huffs a sigh and reaches for the buttery soft leather.

Shaun reappears with Codsworth hovering over his shoulder. He's already won an oversized hat from a soft-hearted Minuteman. "Hey, look!"

Nora follows his pointed finger as a two-toned bray splits the morning chill. Near one of the prefabs a brahmin stamps, both heads low to graze for spindly tufts of grass between rusted machinery. Unlike the brahmin who wander the roads with traders, this one is bereft of the overfull sacks and late additions hastily strapped in place. Instead there is some kind of box seat, as the brahmin's back is too wide for her to sit astride.

Preston follows her gaze. "Thought it might be easier for you to ride than walk."

Nate offers a hand to Nora, helping her into the seat, then lifts Shaun up in front of Nora. "Hold on tight. Yell if you think you're about to fall."

Nate and Codsworth take position beside the brahmin, while the animal's handler takes the lead rope. All the other Minutemen array themselves around the brahmin, and then Preston calls for them to move out. Dogmeat keeps pace with Nate, ears swiveling and twitching at the noises from their convoy: babbling chatter from the Minutemen, rhythmic hoofbeats of the brahmin, creaking of leather harnesses.

No matter the brahmin's slouching, rhythmic gait, Nora jostles and bounces all the way down the hill until she gets a sense of the animal's rhythm, and spends the next five minutes calming the twins' crying. Shaun, however, has no such trouble; when the novelty of seeing the world from brahmin-height wears off, he watches his baby sisters blink up at the sky and gasp fresh air for the first time in their lives.

The ponderous pace almost as frustrating as the awkward waddle Nora has been forced to endure for the past three months. Nate assumes a patrol stance, scanning the surrounding environment for potential threats. Nora tries to do likewise, tries to keep one eye on the gray woodlands and decrepit buildings, but it all fades into a gray blur with no distinguishing features. All she can do is hunch over the brahmin's back and ignore the itch at the back of her neck. She and Nate both carry loaded guns out of reach of tiny, inquisitive hands. Nora keeps one hand on the travel sling and the other on her thigh near Deliverer's grip.

"General, you might want to tune in to Radio Freedom."

Cocking an eyebrow, Nate fiddles with the dials on his pip-boy. A burst of white noise causes Delilah to wail, and Nora settles her, he tunes the radio with more care.

" _—want to give our congratulations to the General and his wife. Best wishes from Tenpines Bluff!_ " And then another voice, male this time, says, " _Over here at County Crossing, we'd like to say hi to the newest members of the General's family! Hi!_ " And on it goes, various Minutemen and their affiliated settlements from across the Commonwealth offering their messages of joy and hope and celebration.

For several long moments, Nate can do nothing but listen to the well wishes with a peculiar sheen in his eyes. He points down at his pip-boy. Has to clear his throat. "You arranged for this, Preston?"

For all that Preston ducks his head to inspect a loose thread on his glove, the tilt of his hat cannot hide his satisfaction. "Sure did."

It is immensely touching that these strangers—some Nate may have only briefly met when responding to pleas for help, others who know the General by reputation alone—have offered their congratulations. Warmth stirs behind Nora's breastbone, chafing at the edges of weariness that drape over her like a dusty shawl. She coos down at her daughters, "Do you hear that? All these people saying hi to you."

Delilah blinks up at the sunlight warming her face, while Maeve yawns and slips into an easy sleep.

Nora leans down to catch Nate's shoulder, hard and warm under his jacket, and almost falls off the damn brahmin. He breaks patrol stance to cover her hand with his own.

* * *

"Is that a super mutant?" Shaun asks, pointing.

Nora's head snaps up to scan their surrounds. Atop the ridge, sorting through the remains of a raider nest—at least, she hopes that's what he's doing—is, indeed, a hulking green figure. One broad, meaty shoulder sports an arm guard with wicked spikes the length of Nora's forearm.

She remembers the day he scavenged that armor—remembers Strong snapping one of the spikes during his brawl with its previous owner.

A warning cry sounds from the right, and the Minutemen scramble to raise their muskets.

"Ready!"

"Hold your fire!" she shouts. "He's friendly!"

Skeptical looks are thrown in her direction, as well as a few questioning mutters, but the Minutemen stand down. Strong—she dearly hopes it _is_ Strong—jerks upright and stares down at the convoy. He closes the distance with a terrifyingly large stride, and soon Nora can pick out other details: the missile launcher he carries one-handed, the bandoleers criss-crossing his chest, the star-burst scar on his pectoral that was a parting gift from one of his former brothers in Trinity Tower.

Shaun sucks in a breath. His curiosity gives way to caution as the super mutant lumbers towards them. "Wow, he is really big."

Nora touches Shaun's back. "It's okay. Strong is friendly. Mostly. Remember it's rude to stare."

"I'm not worried. You and Dad are here."

The Minutemen are vigilant—understandably so—and while Nora can't swing off the brahmin's back to intercept Strong in the no-man's land, she can still stop someone from getting trigger-happy. "Hi, Strong," she calls.

"Human!"

Preston keeps his musket lowered, but his gaze never leaves Strong's hands and the monstrous weapon he hefts as if it were a pistol. A ripple runs through the outer ring of guards as they decide whether to hold their ground or give way.

Nate stands between Strong and the brahmin carrying his family, but he doesn't impede the super mutant's approach. "Strong."

"Human." Strong plants his feet and looks over the brahmin's riders. Shaun tries not to shrink away under the super mutant's severe gaze. Delilah squalls, then, and catches Strong's attention while Shaun tries to calm his sister.

Peering down at the twins, Strong says, "Humans small. Smaller than other humans. Cry about same."

Bolstering Shaun with a hand on his shoulder, Nora answers, "These are our daughters, Strong."

"What is Doo Ters?"

"They're babies, Strong. Young humans."

He blinks once. Twice. "Strong confused. Where small humans come from?"

Nora presses a hand to the soft flesh of her abdomen. "From here. They grew inside me and I carried them."

"Doo Ters come from inside human? No green goo?" An utterly confounded look twists Strong's face, his lips peeling back in a grimace as he makes a frustrated growl. "Strong no understand. Super mutants right size. Not small like humans." With that pronouncement, loud enough that even the Minutemen walking drag can no doubt hear, Strong lopes away to the front of the column.

Preston lets out a gusty breath. "Shall we move on?"

Fortunately, the presence of not only a well-armed escort but also a super mutant dissuades all but the most daring of raiders. For his part, Strong slings his missile launcher across his back and seems to be fiddling with something while he walks. By a most curious coincidence, most of the raider nests in the general vicinity of their travel route have also recently been wiped out.

As the afternoon wears on, Strong turns around and stomps back to the protected heart of the convoy. He shortens his stride to keep pace with the brahmin. "Human share all with Doo Ters," he says, tentative, testing. "Human share body."

Nate's eyebrows creep towards his hairline, but Nora says, "That's right, Strong. And the Minutemen are helping us get back home."

Strong nods sagely, as if the mysteries of the universe have all been explained. "All humans together. One. Human share with Strong. Strong share with human. Share with Doo Ters."

With that, he holds out one massive hand. Resting in his palm are two little helmets made from fire hydrant caps with leather chin straps. Strong is missing one wrist wrap, and there's a noticeable gap on the harness circling his waist where various scavenged metal pieces dangle to form a crude armor.

Nora's gaze flicks from Strong's bare wrist to the helmets before she plucks them out of his hand. The heavy metal is hot in her grip, enough to affirm that yes, this is really happening. She says warmly, "Thank you, Strong. I'm sure these will come in handy. Somehow."

"Small humans need defense."

From behind Strong's elbow, Nate shakes his head, letting out his breath in one long gust.

* * *

Sanctuary Hills.

Nora slides, boneless, from the brahmin's broad sloping back only for her legs to crumple when her feet hit the cracked asphalt. Then Nate's hands curl around her elbows to steady her, and he plants a quick kiss on her cheek before lifting Shaun off the brahmin. Maeve squirms in the sling, awoken by the jolt, and Delilah too lets out a surprised cry. Nate murmurs to her to calm her down.

Preston waves off Nora's thanks. "You look like you could use some sleep. The General too."

A strange weight lifts from her shoulders when she follows her family inside, replaced by that bone-deep ease of knowing she is home at last. The living room sports only a few stray leaves blown onto the rug that Dogmeat sniffs. No signs of animal infestation, to Nora's relief.

Codsworth stops in the living room. "Mum, sir, I took the liberty of arranging for a little something to welcome our newest family members. If you'll follow me."

In the last few months, their combined efforts have transformed the nursery from a bitter reminder of pre-war life to a lively sanctuary for the twins. Dusted within an inch of its life, the walls have been repaired and repainted with the only shade blue they'd been able to find in Hardware Town. Any toys that survived the long years are neatly stacked in what used to be the wardrobe. The dresser has resumed its old position guarding one of the windows, and the broken slats in the crib have been repaired. Dogmeat prowls by Nora's leg to inspect the room, pressing his nose into the space under the dresser.

They also knocked down and rebuilt the wall separating the nursery from the laundry. The latter, now more spacious than ever, has been renovated to serve as Shaun's new room. Even though they have been two hundred years defunct, useless without electricity and plumbing, Nora still feels an itch in the back of her mind that they no longer own a washer or a dryer. In their place is a loft bed secured against the far wall, with a small workbench underneath, cluttered by half-dissected circuit boards. Shaun's stray socks already litter the ground, which has to be some kind of record.

Through his own inspection of the nursery, Codsworth reminisces the construction. "—a pity it was impossible to find any appropriate wallpaper, but we'll have to make do, won't we?"

"I don't know, buddy," Nate sighs, giving Nora a quick wink. "I just don't know how we'll survive without clouds and rockets decorating the walls."

Sitting atop the dresser is a tangle of trinkets and wire. Codsworth glides towards the dresser and, handling the contraption with care, presents it to Nora and Nate. "Consider this my welcome home present for the little ones."

Nora recognizes the crib mobile immediately. The tiny red and blue rockets have been repainted with caring precision and the kinks in the wires that hold them aloft have been straightened. Dangling the mobile over Delilah and Maeve, Codsworth spins the mobile and the little rockets glide in their wire-guided orbit, unimpeded by gravity or grinding gears. "It is my hope they'll enjoy it as much as young master Shaun did."

Delilah is transfixed, reaching out with one chubby hand, fingers curling for the sailing spaceships just beyond her reach.

A smile creases the weary lines around Nora's mouth. "They already do, it seems."

"Do you like it?" Shaun asks, tugging on Nate's sleeve. "I helped fix the mobile. It looks good, doesn't it?"

"You two did a great job." Nate waves a hand to the crib. "Codsworth, you should do the honors."

Codsworth's optical shutters widen, then narrow. "At once, sir!" He mounts the mobile to the crib with a few efficient screws, and bats the mobile to send it spinning a second time. He runs one spindly appendage along the crib's blue railing while he watches his handiwork. "It isn't what it used to be," Codsworth admits, and his eye stalks droop an inch. "But it is my hope our family can grow again. Now, shall we get the young mistresses settled in?"


	3. Chapter 3

"So I hear you've expanded. Or maybe not you specifically. If anything, you've shrunk since the last time I saw you."

Nora holds up a hand and Deacon goes still, cat-like, every muscle freezing at once. Today he sports a rather respectable Minutemen look, down to the hat and a laser musket slung over his shoulder beside his sniper rifle.

Nora jerks her thumb towards the hall. "Both of them have finally gone to sleep," she says, "and if you wake them your body will never be found."

Undaunted, Deacon creeps past her to the half-shut bedroom door and peers in. With a glance back at her and a jaunty smile, he eases past the door. Nora prowls down the hall, ghosting over the broken tiles with all the skill Deacon himself taught her, avoiding any loose edges that might catch her toes.

By the time she reaches the nursery door, Deacon stands by the crib, dropping one hand onto the railing. In profile, there is something about his stillness that halts her dead in her tracks. Soft mid-afternoon light filters through the nursery windows, flashing his sunglasses with gold. He watches the twins with an inscrutability that is too measured and then, with a quiet exhale, he turns away. He pads out of the room on soft feet, waving a hand in greeting to Nate, who has just ambled through the kitchen door.

"Got your kids a little something." Deacon tosses two padded wads of fabric on the kitchen island—sleeping masks, they look like, made from denim worn into powder-blue softness.

Nate holds one up by the straps. "Uh, thanks." Nate turns the mask over in his hands then tries it on, hooking the elastic straps around his ears so his eyes are covered. "How do I look?"

Deacon gives Nate a thumbs up. "Perfecto. Although maybe now's not a good time to point out that's a door muffler?"

"Oh."

Deacon demonstrates with the fabric in his hands. "Wrap this around the door knobs and hey presto, they don't get woken up by parents checking up on them at odd hours." He whispers in the direction of the nursery, "You're welcome."

Nora smothers a chuckle with one hand. "Thank you, Deacon."

He gives an elegant shrug. "It was this or a gold-plated sniper rifle each, but I figured they're too young. Maybe in a year or two Tinker Tom can set them up with something nice."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here," Nora protests, but it takes some effort to stop the corners of her mouth from curling up. She pauses. "Maybe start with pistols."

With a glance down the corridor, Deacon's smirk slides away like water from a stone, revealing a weathered, unfamiliar seriousness. "No bull this time. I'm glad you guys had something go your way for once. Your girls are special, and I hope round two goes better than round one did."

Nora's throat goes tight. She looks down at her hands, nods. Nate's knuckles have gone white where they grip the edge of the kitchen island. She says, "Yeah. I hope so too."

With a decided casualness, Deacon drops onto the couch and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. "You know, daddy General over there has the Commonwealth's biggest militia jumping at his every whim, while the Railroad's secret weapon here has access to a sprawling underground contact network. Your kids are never going to escape you."

"That's the plan," Nate agrees.

Nora leans on the back of the couch behind Deacon and he regales her with the results of Tinker Tom's latest experiment. A quiet part of her is grateful for Deacon and the Railroad, knowing a lantern remains lit for her family.

When Nora and Nate check on the twins after nap time, they find Delilah and Maeve draped in a baby blanket of scavenged fabrics in soft muddy greens and browns and blues, arranged into patterned squares by someone with an eye for design. Embroidered on one corner of the underside is _Barbara and_ —but the stitching of the second name has been pulled out.

* * *

Cait strides through the door—and loses momentum once she crosses the threshold, coming to an awkward halt in front of the bookcase. Her muscles flex as she raises a hand, and Nora's gaze catches on what Cait holds: gripped by the scruff of its neck is a giant teddy bear.

"Here. Got this for yer wee ones." Her voice is gruff.

The bear's head sags forward, broken at the neck. One of its eyes has been replaced with a black button attached with yellow string. Its fur, once a rich chestnut, is now faded and patchy. A hole in its arm has been mended in the same yellow thread, along with a split seam along its ribs that is now wonky, pulling the fabric taut over its belly in uneven wrinkles. One of its paws is crusted with spots of dark red.

It is the sweetest teddy bear Nora has ever laid eyes on.

For all that the teddy is worn, it has a daggy charm nurtured by the care someone went to in order to clean it so what remains of its fur is soft, expelling a faint lemon-soap fragrance. Its paws are outspread to invite hugs, and a blue ribbon is tied in an uneven bow around its neck.

Nora pronounces: "The girls will love it."

From Nate's perch at the kitchen counter, trying to learn the inner workings of Shaun's latest contraption, he turns his head to conceal a smile.

Cait uncoils, uncrossing her arms. "Yer think so?"

"Do you want to give the girls their present?" Nora checks the time on her pip-boy. "They should wake up any minute now."

Cait wavers, shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet as if ready to fight or flee at the slightest provocation. "Dunno. I'm not a gentle girl, you know." But behind the wariness pinching her features is a glimmer of interest, like a few brave rays of gold sunlight peeking out from behind bruising storm clouds.

With a jerk of her chin and and arched eyebrow, Nora turns away. Spurred by the challenge, Cait clomps down the hallway behind her to the nursery. And then the brawny woman halts mid-stride, arrested by the sight of the twins sleeping with Deacon's baby blanket tucked around their shoulders.

Cait thrusts the teddy bear in Nora's direction. "You do it."

Delilah wakes with a start, which in turn rouses Maeve. Nora coos down at them, "How are my girls? Cait got you a present—look. It's a teddy bear."

She sits the teddy at the head of the crib with its back to the blue railing slats. Delilah blinks at the teddy more than double her size. Maeve hiccups and tries to roll, a task made difficult by her wrapping. A creak of leather, and Cait stands beside Nora, peering down at the twins. She stretches out an arm, then aborts the gesture halfway to instead wrap her hand around the railing in a grip that makes the wood groan. Her eyes are dark, and yet—soft.

Nora raises an eyebrow. "You are allowed to say hello if the twins are happy to be touched."

Cait baulks, all tense lines and hunched shoulders. Her arms swing back to dig her fists into her thick thighs. "Don't want to hurt them or nothin'."

A soft exhale from the hall, and Nora glances up to see Nate leaning against the door frame, his arms folded over his chest. He studies Cait, and empathy softens his features. "You won't if you're careful. If I can do it, you can too. C'mere and I'll show you."

Cait looks Nate over, taking in his broad shoulders and large hands, the easy way he holds himself, before her eyes dart back to the twins. Afternoon sunlight streams through the windows, washing over the pale scars slashing across her biceps, over the old pitted marks in the crease of her elbows; they are deep but fading, and her hard-muscled shoulders drop as Nate rests Delilah in the crook of his arm. He shows Cait how to keep her supported without smothering her.

"See, you keep her head up like this and hold her so she can't fall."

Cait's expression flickers, too fast to catch. Her gaze is riveted by the twins; one blinking up at her father, while the other grabs at her mother's tickling fingers. "You'll protect them, yeah? Raise them good and proper?"

It isn't a question and they all know it.

* * *

Having just been banished from Shaun's bedroom so he can tinker without watching eyes, Nora closes his door behind her and steps into the living room.

Delilah is sound asleep, draped over the giant teddy's lap where it sits propped against the armchair leg while Dogmeat sits on the floor nearby, quiet and attentive. His ears flick in Nora's direction as she approaches. Nate is sitting with his back to the couch and his knees pulled up with Maeve is propped so her feet press against his stomach. Her little hands rest in Nate's open palms, and her fingers curl when his thumbs stroke the creases in her wrists.

Piper sits next to him, teasing Maeve with one breath and Nate in the next. Giving him an exaggerated elbow in the side, Piper says, "You're just one big softie, Blue. Isn't that right?" She glances at Nora for confirmation.

Wiping a thin line of grease from the crease of her fingernail, Nora says, "I have it on good authority the proper term is dork."

Nate scoffs and turns his head to bequeath his wife a wounded look while Piper snickers.

"Is that your official statement? Do you hear that, Baby Blue?" Piper runs her knuckles along Maeve's arm, and the baby reaches for at the pen between her gloved fingers. "Do you think you're at risk of turning out like your dad?"

Nate retakes his daughter's hands in his own, her tiny fingers swallowed by his, and he smiles down at her. "Correction: Maeve, sweetie, you think it would be great to take after me, don't you? You get my stunning looks and magnetizing charm."

The baby stares up at the watching adults with round eyes, her mouth open and glistening with saliva. A string of drool rolls down her chin, and Nate dabs it away with care.

Piper looks over at Delilah. "What about you, other Baby Blue? Can I have your statement on your parents?"

Delilah yawns and twists on the teddy's lap under Dogmeat's attentive gaze. He twitches when she moves, leaning forward in case she's about to fall off. His thumping tail summons a tiny cloud of dust from the rug, making Delilah sneeze.

Piper pulls out her notebook and pretends to jot something down. "Now that's glowing praise. Thanks for your time."

"Feel free to pick a new color whenever you like," Nate says.

"Wouldn't have the same ring to it, Blue."

For her part, Nora is content to sit cross-legged on the couch behind Nate and Piper, making faces at Maeve from behind their heads.

"To celebrate the occasion of the Blue family getting bigger, I wrote up a little something exclusive for the twins. One-of-kind." Drawing a folded piece of paper out of her jacket, Piper clears her throat. "Special Edition of Publick Occurrences: Welcome to the World."

From Nora's perch, she can spy over Piper's shoulder. The paper's heavy texture hints at a hand made origin, with its edges neatly trimmed square. The ink is a crisp black, stamping letters in impeccably neat lines.

 _Family. Whatever that word means to you, you know that everyone has—or had—one. I won't be the first or the last to welcome your arrival on this little place called the Commonwealth, but I will anyway. Because welcomes are fun._

 _This isn't the Commonwealth your parents, both vault dwellers, knew. But we now have the opportunity to make something of the Commonwealth—and you'll have that opportunity, in time. There's a lot to learn out here, Baby Blues, but you won't be alone. If there are two things I'd like you to know, they are that truth frees us and that not all family is related by blood._

 _It is my hope that you'll have something neither I nor your parents had: stability. So that as we face this new future, you won't know fear._

Delilah fusses, and Dogmeat is by her side in an instant, nosing her soft elbow, then settling down beside her, close enough for her to grasp at his fur. Nora slides off the couch to sit beside her daughter, scratching Dogmeat behind one ear. Delilah gives a delighted kick when she spies her mother's face, and Nora has to give her a smile.

Piper looks between Nate and Nora, the corners of her mouth tugging up. "You know, there are worse parents they could take after."


	4. Chapter 4

"Where are the little terrors?"

Hearing Nate's noise of protest that his daughters would be called such, Nora lifts her head from the island counter. With a glance over her shoulder, she finds none other than Goodneighbor's wayward mayor himself. Hancock flashes her what she's learned to recognize as a cocky smirk, no matter how much it may resemble a lipless grimace.

Nate brushes a hand across her back as he passes, and she smiles into her morning coffee. His curiosity is immediately roused by what Hancock carries. "Little early for you. What's with the box?"

Hancock glances down at the wooden chest balanced on one bony hip. "This? Figured what could be better for your kids than their very first treasure stash?"

Nate smiles. "Then I'll grab the twins."

Downing the rest of her lukewarm coffee in the hopes it might clear the wool stuffed in her head, Nora pads on bare feet to the nursery behind Nate. Her eyes itch from the too-bright morning sunbeams pooling around the crib. Nate claims Delilah, so she carries Maeve—who has the luxury of falling asleep almost immediately with her head on Nora's breast—to meet Hancock In the meantime, he has set the box on the kitchen table and now stands with his hands behind his back, peering at a recently washed baby rattle with all the confusion of an archaeologist unearthing a previously undiscovered object.

Hancock glances up when they step into the living area. "Alright, hit me."

Maeve wakes at the unfamiliar voice, and the twins are captivated by a new face, holding none of the apprehension an adult might when under the intent blood-black gaze of a ghoul. Hancock looks between the twins, then gently wiggles Delilah's toe. "Double the trouble. I like it."

Delilah kicks her legs with a happy noise when he speaks, then reaches for the frill of his coat.

Hancock chuckles, the sound as dry as crunching through the woods in fall when it comes from his radiation-scorched throat. "Got good taste. This, my friend, is an important symbol of power. Say 'of the people, for the people'. No? How about 'Mayor Hancock'?"

Delilah burps and peers about with an open expression.

Mopping up the milky drool around her mouth, Nate says, "It's a work in progress."

Hancock drums his fingers on the edge of the wooden chest. It's of a decent size—large enough to be cumbersome in even Nate's arms—and constructed from dark cherry panels patterned with a silky grain. Any varnish has long since worn away, but the for all the scratches and scars in the lid, the timber held up under the rigors of time. The brass latch and rivets have been polished to reflect enough morning light that Nora's eyes water.

"Gather round, folks: this here is a genuine treasure chest from Mayor Hancock's personal storage. Greased hinges for sneaky use and a lockable latch in case there's something you need to hide. You can use it to store bottle caps, ammo, even toys liberated from other kids. And if you cry too much, you might get an up close and personal look inside." Hancock opens the creaking lid to show off its spacious, reinforced interior. Despite the musty smell that wafts out, there's no dust to accompany it.

Nora snorts, and Hancock closes the chest with a cheeky look.

Nate sits Delilah on the lid, keeping his hands around her torso so she can't overbalance or fall. "What do you think?"

Delilah feels around with uncoordinated hands, unused to sitting upright, and her expression scrunches. Sensing the oncoming tears, Nate lifts her back into his arms and smooths a hand across her back.

Hancock watches with an expression identifiable as anything but envy. "No need to cry. We're starting small here—one day, you're gonna have an entire warehouse to store your goods. And if you're lucky, you'll meet a close friend when he digs his way inside intending to clean you out."

With a wry smile, Nate drops a hand onto the smaller man's shoulder. "Just because you don't know how to make friends any other way."

* * *

Nate leans on one elbow over the twins, who lie on the living room floor, dangling his dog tags for them to play with. "Smile for me? You know you want to."

Delilah kicks her legs when he tickles her stomach, while Maeve is more easily distracted by the sound of greeting called outside and heavy footsteps.

Danse clears his throat from the front door, his body—bulky even in his bomber jacket instead of power armor—awkwardly poised on the threshold. "I can return later if this is a personal moment for you."

Nora glances up from the kitchen table, marking her place in her book. She has to wonder what kind of figure her husband cuts to a fellow career soldier, lying on the floor in a t-shirt and old sweats. If Danse's face is indication, he never expected to see a brother-in-arms who once took out a raider nest with only a pistol and a molotov cocktail to now be making noises to entertain babies.

Nate glances over his shoulder. "Danse! Hi. No, it's fine. Come in and meet the twins."

Danse braves only as far as the couch. He sits down, ramrod straight, and peers down at the twins with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

"Be careful. They can smell fear."

While Nate is distracted by Danse's scowl, Maeve grabs at the tags and manages to get her fingers caught in the chain. Nate frees her hand and kisses her fingers, but the damage is done. Her face crumples and she bursts into tears.

Rising from the table, Nora swoops in to take Maeve and retreats to the kitchen. Nate shoots her a grateful look—for soothing the crying baby or for being courteous to Danse, she isn't certain. Rocking Maeve in her arms, she murmurs, "Hush, little one, it's alright."

Maeve wails again, but soon cries herself out. With a sheepish look, Nate wipes his dog tags on his pant leg and tucks them under his shirt. Scooping up Delilah, Nate lowers himself onto the couch beside Danse. Delilah watches the new face behind half-lidded eyes, mouth working soundlessly. She then tugs on Nate's hand and starts sucking on his finger with soft pink gums.

Danse watches the baby back and clears his throat. "I see you're adjusting to your new responsibilities."

Nate shrugs one shoulder. "To be fair, I'm playing catch up here. My wonderful wife has nine months of childcare on me."

"And my wonderful husband needs to stop worrying so much," Nora calls from the kitchen, "because he's doing fine, as always."

Humming a quick tune, Nate raises an eyebrow in Danse's direction. "That bush is looking awfully beaten today, buddy."

Danse shoots him a sideways look. "You know I've never been good at these things. I'd appreciate it if you bear with me. I told you once that having a bond with someone and then losing them changes you... but I never considered how the opposite might also be true."

Nate considers this as his daughter slobbers all over his fingers. "You'd think that I'd be an expert at this, but there's always more to learn. I hope I'll change for the better. To be the father they need."

Danse nods, slow and considered, his dark eyes distant. Then his gaze snaps back into focus. "What are their names?"

"This one's Delilah and Nora's got Maeve."

Danse withdraws a set of holotags from his jacket pocket and programs their names in, then removes the second tag. After reaching up to pull his own holotags free, he unstrings his holotags and threads the second tag onto the chain. "Here. It's not much of a present, I admit."

"Wonderful—you see this, Lilah? You can stop drooling over mine now." Nate swings Delilah's holotag, its tiny display panel a blurred arc of blue, but this time he keeps it out of baby reach.

Danse approaches Nora and Maeve with the caution usually reserved for a live mine field, but when no more tears are forthcoming, he holds out the other holotag.

Keeping the chain wrapped around her hand, Nora shows the gift to Maeve. The baby gurgles and reaches for the blue light with half-curled fingers. "Thank you."

Danse can always be counted on to be earnest, so no matter the uncertainty pinching his face, he's honest when he says, "My congratulations. You both must be very proud."

* * *

Nora sits in one of the old patio chairs they'd dragged from the back yard, the brittle plastic hard against her sore back. Nate has claimed the chair's partner and sits beside her; they each hold one baby. Dogmeat rests his chin on her knee and when he nudges Delilah's leg, she kicks back. Shaun is just visible at the base of the tree at the end of the street, drawing on the sidewalk with chalks. Tipping her head back, Nora closes her eyes and enjoys the feel of sunlight on her face. Nate's hand slides along her armrest to find her and he links their fingers together.

The street goes quiet. Sturges' clanking in Rosa's carport ceases, as does the laughter next door.

Cracking open an eye, Nora's vision resolves itself to find the dark silhouette striding up the street. His gait is even, methodical, with barely a ripple in his black coat.

She's on her feet in a heartbeat.

Nate stands beside her, with Maeve wriggling in his arm from being jostled.

X6-88 halts in front of them and stares down at the twins for a long moment. Then: "Holy shit."

Without missing a beat, Nate mutters, "There is nothing holy about what they've been pooping, believe me."

Delilah yawns and watches the newcomer with her dark, unblinking gaze.

"That's… unsettling." X6-88 hasn't returned to that old monotone, which is something. "I've heard childbirth can be extraordinarily painful. While inefficient, it seems a good way to increase one's pain threshold."

"One of the beneficial side effects," Nora drawls. She looks him over, wondering how he's been adapting to permanent topside living. No matter the six inches of mud hemming his coat and the deeper grooves around his mouth, X6-88 has retained his relentless determination and impeccable taste in sunglasses. An unfamiliar matte black bag with straining seams sits on his back, and Nora can count an excessive number of guns on his person. He doesn't seem to have lost any weight, so they won't need to cook him a meal or three.

Nate shifts Maeve in his arms. "You could hold one of the twins, if you wanted."

Sometimes, a raised eyebrow from X6-88 can eloquently convey his incredulity. "Very funny, sir." He's leery when Delilah reaches for his coat, stepping back out of reach, and watches Nora tuck the baby's arm back into her shawl with an unreadable expression. "Do you think this is a better legacy than your son's?"

Despite everything, it's still a knife to the heart. Nora draws in a quick, hissing breath. "It's not about who's better than who. I wasn't thinking about legacies at all—I just want my children to be safe and happy."

X6-88 cocks his head. "And you think they can have safety or happiness here? To my limited understanding, infant humans require extensive care."

She's quiet a moment. "We're going to find out. But at least this time, we'll be a family."

He watches her with nary a twitch in his expression, but Nora senses that he's searching her face. Whatever he finds, it leads him to say, "If anyone has the will to keep their children secure in the filth of the Commonwealth, it would be you. For whatever future you hope to have with these infants." With a brisk efficiency, X6-88 unslings one of the plasma rifles off his back. "If you expect them to remain safe, they'll require proper equipment."

While the copper coils and glowing green plasma cells are familiar enough, the weapon has been heavily modified, sporting an automatic barrel and an oversized capacitor Nora doesn't recognize. Engraved on the side are the words: _For the future_.

Nate whistles. "The twins are going to fight over that. I can see it now."

X6-88 doesn't immediately respond, his gaze lowered again to the babies Nora and Nate hold. Clearing his throat, X6-88 says, "I'm not good with infants but, for whatever it's worth, congratulations. Just don't expect me to change their diapers."

"X6?" Nora steps forward to catch his elbow before he can turn away. "Thank you."

He gives her a nod. "You're welcome, ma'am."

* * *

In the late-night quiet, Nora watches the twins sleep. Cloaked in their baby blanket to ward off the biting chill, the sisters lie side by side in the crib. The mobile above them drifts in a lazy circle, spurred by a wandering breeze. The plasma cartridge from Experiment 18-A sits on the dresser as a makeshift nightlight, bathing the room in dim green luminescence. Hancock's treasure chest sits against the wall, already half-full with boots and helmets and toy robots.

Perched on the lid is the oversized bear that holds a copy of Shakespeare's plays in its arms, while two holotags glow softly in the dark from around the bear's broken neck. Cyclops the alien has fallen to the floor—and while it's too dark to be sure, Nora suspects the toy sports fresh teeth marks. Hanging in the open cupboard is a worn travel sling, while an exclusive edition of Publick Occurrences is pinned to the door.

It's all too good to be true.

Nate slips into the room and comes to a halt beside her, one hand settling on the small of her back. Nora leans into his warm bulk and closes her eyes. She feels the whisper of movement when he drops a kiss to the top of her head.

Nate takes her hand and leads her out of the nursery. There's no light peeping under Shaun's door, so they can go straight to their own bedroom and half-shut the door. For once, Dogmeat sleeps on his own pile of old shirts rather than on Nora's pillow, so she flops down on the bed and sinks into the mattress.

Settling beside her, Nate prods her shoulder, murmurs in her ear, "Roll over, hon."

Nora makes an inelegant noise and shifts until they're both settled against each other, with her leg flung over his thigh and his arm curled around her waist.

She lets out a long exhale, feeling the tension leave her muscles, and runs her fingers along his arm. "We have the best friends in the Commonwealth."

"That we do."

"One thing's for sure."

"Don't keep me in suspense." Nate nuzzles her neck.

"I love you, honey, but I am never going alone with you to the park again."


End file.
